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Previously, while filming "Friends," the standard 9-to-5 workday became a routine experience. This is the typical work pattern in Hollywood.
Movie sets are no exception. Although special scenes might disrupt the schedule—like night shoots or early morning scenes—the overall eight-hour workday remains relatively fixed, with detailed provisions in the contracts.
But are there exceptions?
Of course.
Independent film crews, specific locations that are only available for a limited time, or unexpected situations that require overtime—all of these can lead to deviations from the norm.
However, on the whole, an eight-hour workday is standard, especially for large productions, as anything beyond this could cause problems for the crew—
Multiple unions might raise objections: the actors' guild, the directors' guild, the cinematographers' guild, the sound engineers' guild, and others.
In reality, the crew themselves usually don't want to deviate either.
A very important and practical reason for this is simple: the circumstances don't allow it.
Take "Spider-Man," for example. The crew chose to shoot on location in New York, where every scene requires a filming permit. The permits issued by City Hall come with specific guidelines, including the time and area allowed for shooting. Once the time limit is reached, the crew must leave, whether the shoot is complete or not.
If the shoot isn't completed, they have to apply for a new permit for a reshoot.
Because of this, major Hollywood studios often prefer filming on sound stages where conditions are controlled and there are no disruptions from the natural environment, city settings, or unexpected factors, ensuring the crew can stick to the filming schedule.
At the same time, when choosing cities for location shoots, Hollywood studios often favor Atlanta or Toronto. These cities offer favorable policies, such as tax breaks and other conveniences, effectively rolling out the red carpet for film crews.
New York?
Not quite as accommodating.
Yet, interestingly, the number of film crews applying to shoot on location in New York remains staggering, with a steady stream of applicants each year.
Los Angeles is similar.
Today, the "Spider-Man" crew wrapped up filming ahead of schedule at the steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. However, they couldn't move the upcoming scenes forward because the next scenes also have pre-booked locations and times, and they'll have to wait until tomorrow to begin. The crew must adhere to the planned shooting schedule.
With the current shoot wrapped, they called it a day early.
And honestly, who doesn't love getting off work early?
"Good job, everyone!"
"Great work today. Enjoy a good rest tonight."
Amid the clamor and laughter, Anson returned to the actors' trailer to remove his makeup and change clothes—
This was the shared trailer for the crew.
Anson's current status wasn't high enough to warrant his own private trailer, but the "Spider-Man" production had a different setup.
As the crew moved around New York City for various shoots, the need for quick makeup and costume changes was ever-present. To accommodate this, the production team had three trailers on hand, like a band of gypsies traveling from location to location. These trailers served as mobile hubs where everything could be handled, including a quick nap if necessary.
But beyond these practicalities, the trailers served another crucial function: privacy.
They protected the actors from the prying eyes of paparazzi, keeping some of the more secretive aspects of the shoot under wraps. While not completely foolproof, the trailers provided a relatively private space, blocking out the chaos outside like a mobile fortress, serving as a sanctuary.
After the day's work was done, Anson stepped into the trailer, opened the mini-fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. Tilting his head back, he drank it down in one go.
*Gulp. Gulp.*
He stood there, holding the empty bottle, staring blankly as the coolness spread through him, gradually easing the tension and heat. His mind, once abuzz with thoughts, began to quiet down.
He needed a moment to breathe, to clear his head completely.
So, he just stood there, not thinking about anything, his mind a blank canvas. Then, without warning, a craving struck him—he suddenly wanted some chips.
There was no particular reason; he just felt like having some.
*Creak.*
The tranquility was shattered by a small, sudden noise that pulled Anson out of his reverie, dragging him back to reality. He reflexively turned toward the sound, his eyes unfocused, searching for the source but finding nothing.
Instinctively, he perked up his ears, trying to catch any further sounds, but the air was silent—
*Vroom.*
An engine revved nearby, a reminder that this was the heart of New York City, where background noise was normal.
Maybe it was just some random noise. Or maybe it was his imagination.
Anson wondered if he was simply overtired, his senses on edge after a long, draining day, leading him to misinterpret things.
*Creak. Creak.*
The noise came again, and this time Anson didn't let his mind wander. He pinpointed it immediately, waking fully from his daze, alert and on edge. Could it be a mouse?
He considered it, then dismissed the idea. The sound was more like something rubbing against another surface, or maybe wood creaking under pressure.
Anson wasn't scared, nor was he panicked. Instead, he moved toward the source of the sound—
As someone who had experienced something as extraordinary as being a time traveler, facing unexplained phenomena from the natural world didn't faze him anymore.
Maybe he should call for a crew member. Maybe he should open the trailer door. But he didn't.
Not only did he not do these things, but he also felt a twinge of curiosity, daringly moving closer to investigate.
*Creak.*
The sound came again, almost like a sonar ping, guiding Anson to its source. There was no doubt—there was something else inside the trailer.
The sound was coming from the wardrobe in the corner.
Technically, it was more of a storage cupboard since space was limited, and the crew didn't use it for costumes. All the wardrobe items were hung on a rack in another trailer; this one was more of a toolbox, storing random items. If a mouse had made a home inside, it wouldn't be all that surprising.
Step by step, Anson approached.
The faint rustling seemed to be moving through the trailer's ducts, scattering overhead like pebbles rolling across a surface, sending a shiver down his spine.
This…
Anson looked down at his "weapon"—an empty plastic bottle. Great, very intimidating. But after glancing around, he didn't see any better options. A small grin crept across his face as he adjusted his grip, holding the bottle more firmly, striking a Wing Chun stance.
Even though he wasn't a martial arts master and couldn't wield the bottle like Thor's hammer, he could at least put on a good show to scare whatever was inside.
Holding the bottle tight, he approached as if it really were Thor's hammer.
Step by step.
Just as Anson was about to open the wardrobe door, something he didn't expect happened—the door burst open first. A dark, round object slammed against the wardrobe wall, creating a dull thud. But before Anson could make out what it was, a flash of light blinded him as something lunged toward him—
*Click.*
It wasn't a monster, but it was scarier than one: the flash of a camera.
*Click. Click. Click.* The rapid-fire of the camera was relentless, the light and sound overwhelming him.